


Colors

by eclecticfandomer



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: A seriously messed up family, College, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclecticfandomer/pseuds/eclecticfandomer
Summary: Zutara modern AU with bending. Each chapter is chronological and based on a line from Halsey's Colors. Yes... I've done it... I've succumbed to the stereotype of authors doing lyric fics... No I'm not sorry.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Kudos: 2





	Colors

**Author's Note:**

> Heh... So I was going over my doc manager... and heres one... yah.  
> Ch2 IS almost done... HOWEVER my priority is happenstance.  
> (Side Note: I havent edited this since I posted it to my doc manager... DO NOT expect happenstance quality... IF this fic gets chosen over COW then I would edit this chapter and post ch2)

The thunder had never scared him. The lightning was a welcome. Low pressure system and high pressure system, the various air currents, it provided a perfect storm. The crack of the thunder and the blinding light of the lightning, a creation of air, deadly by fire. Mirror image to how he felt inside, the world imploded in light. It was these days that would stand out to him as he aged. His father would bend the lightning back at the sky, daring it to fight him. This would serve as an unheeded warning. He should have seen this as a sign. His father was tempting mother nature, the supreme force of the land, and yet nothing was done about it. Looking back on it, he was young. The nephew to the heir to the company and the son of the third in line. He was a child who welcomed his father's absence. But even then Zuko was observant. He would watch as mother nature took Ozais lightning with ease. She wouldn't dignify him a response, fueling his endless rage, fueling his Firebending. It was an endless circle until the storm passed or until Ozai found solace in women and opiates. His father fought the natural order of things, but maybe that was why Zuko loved those nights. His father was elsewhere, the furthest training grounds on the outskirts of their mansion home. He wasn't down the hall, around the corner, and a hop, skip, and a jump away. Zuko would sit at his window, satin red drapes flapping in the breeze. The breeze. Water in the sky creating the clouds, wind twisting the clouds into a vicious soup of darkness, energy and fire bridging land to sky, earth became either the source or the target of aggression. The four elements working in perfect tandem to create one of the only things to soothe him.  
Zuko could watch the lightning forever, learning, feeling, experiencing a force of nature. He learned many things about storms over those countless hot summer nights. He watched lightning arc from darkness to darkness, illuminating the barren palace grounds. Despite public knowledge, Zuko knew that energy could race from ground to clouds just as it could fall from clouds to ground. He watched hours of the storm, a welcome friend in the deserted world of his house.  
On occasion Azula would join him. She would always deny it, but she welcomed the comfort and security that his arms provided. Her father working to corrupt her mind, fashioning her in the image of him, the glory of the Fire Nation. Her mother, a distant figure, threatened and beaten by Ozai to leave the children alone. She, like many of the others in the palace took solace in the storm. Clutching her prayer beads, wishing away the man and the past, hoping for a future she knew to be futile. Drifting further and further into the Spirit world in everything but body. Her husband was not in her room these nights, he was not forcing himself on her, or if he was bored of her, a mistress from the local brothel. Even his absence couldn't bring life back to her dulled eyes, body wasting away, hidden by the silken robes of her status as the wife of one of the richest men in the world.  
So, as the storm raged around her, a cacophony of noise to drown the frustrated screams of her husband, Ursa sat and prayed, playing the part of dutiful wife. A gilded fantasy, wrought through with rust. Even in these nights, she could not go see to her children, despite them being just down the hall.  
What would later become comical, in a sense, she knew nothing about now. Her son, pride and joy of the household, as handsome as he was kind, and adored by the various servants under employment, looked exactly like his father. Ozai, being the lucky man he was, had managed to have his clone, in everything but mindset, on the first try. One could not look at the young child without noticing the rather startling resemblance.  
It was these nights where Ursa loved her son, but could not bear to view him. For, despite being nothing like his father, he was a reminder of who she had suffered by was on constant display. Even on these nights, the sheer juxtaposition of the two in the way they loved her, as a mother and wife, did nothing to quell the bile that rose in her throat each time she caught the distant sound of Ozais manic screams. As she drifted in life, on those nights, she knew that Azula would migrate to her brothers room where, in the morning, Ursa would have to separate them before he found out.  
Her brother was Azula's only solace in the storm which he welcomed. The purity of the light and sound would later become a beacon behind the grated windows of her padded room in rehab. Her new home away from home. Meanwhile, Zuko would scream and jump at the smallest sound, unable to be calmed, falling victim to his PTSD. The future was scary, it would treat them as pawns in the game of balance. But here… now… they were children. Powerful children, but children nonetheless. They might not have had the innocence they deserved, or the love they wished for, but they were there. In that moment, mother cherishing her few moments away from her husband at night, father daring mother nature, and brother and sister wrapped in one another's arms, they might not have been happy, but they were safe.  
He couldn't control his heat or project his heat like she could, but there was love and warmth in his arms. Cowering against his chest, vulnerable as the day she was born, he held her into the night.  
It was these nights, when the world hated itself and the palace was never quiet, that he loved the most. Clap of thunder, blinding light of the lightning, beat his father yelling or his mother quietly crying when she thought she was alone. The storm was his protection from that which he hid from. It gave his normally unattainable and unreachable sister a way to feel love in a human connection. That was until it was turned against him in the worst of ways.  
The first storm of his life after his family mishap occurred from late into the night to the morning of his 21st birthday. It was a slow day leading up, an auspicious day. Almost easy, relatively speaking of course. Very little homework was given by his professors at Republic City University. Spars with his uncle had gone well, Pai Sho on the other hand had not. Action and reaction were far favorable to Zuko, than that of a slow and steady take down. If he wanted a challenge, Zuko would have had his right hand man, retired lieutenant Jee, join him and his uncle. But he caught Jee and an unnamed woman kissing in the garden, despite the slow rate at which it was recovering from the years of neglect. Zuko wasn't heartless, so the couple remained undisturbed.  
Their family had been dragged back to their house, and company headquarters, in the Fire Nation capital of Miyako following the death of the Agni company executive Tokugawa Azulon. Zuko was only eleven. After they left, the gardens and, to an extent, the house in Republic City fell into disrepair. It took Zuko and Iroh years, and lots of money, to fix the obvious neglect.  
One night, a few weeks after their move to Miyako Ozai, in a fit of rage, burned the gardens to the ground. Soft pastels of the petals eaten alive by the flame of life. The rose bushes were always his mother's favorite. The juxtaposition of the soft and delicate rose buds, falling to pieces at the slightest touch, and the harshness of the protective thorns. The only thing that remained was the giant oak tree by the turtleduck pond. It survived due to sheer willpower, forever holding a defiant stance against Ozai and his cruel intentions. His mother died in the spring, four months after Zuko's eleventh birthday and two months until Azula's ninth. That summer, the giant oak tree was barren as the winter. Scarecrow branches, scraggly arms, reaching to the sun in a silent plea for life. If the garden returned to the ashes and dust it spawned from, then the pond had evaporated lazily into the sky.  
A few days had not done much to alleviate the years of abuse. It would be years before the roses were back in the ground and blooming. But there was hope. Even after his father had razed the ground, peonies had popped up every year. After the initial fire, his father had not ventured back into his wife's domain.  
The peonies had already sprouted and died off the year that Zuko faced his father, tech mobile and CEO to Agni inc, in the early summer of 1092 ASC. The usual comfort they provided him would have to wait until the early spring of next year.  
He used to spend every moment he could by the evaporated pond, little more than a dip in the hills, and the peonies growing on what used to be the bank. Their red and purple hues wrapped him in warmth, their vibrant kaleidoscope blues only served as a reminder, and the pale golden yellows made him confused, the green stems keeping him strong. His mother's garden had persisted on, a defiance against the dry and arid climate of the Fire Nation. That was the last time he had seen the garden, and his homeland.  
The morning of the day before he turned 21 the sky was clear, barren of clouds or even the gentlest of breezes. But he knew how looks were deceiving. As dusk faded to darkness, a dreaded feeling couldn't help but settle into the pit of his stomach. He finished the rest of his papers by candle light before retreating to his room, his solace for the past few years away from his home in the Fire Nation. It was an eerie feeling, nothing had changed, yet nothing was the same.  
It didn't arrive with a bang and a boom, nor did it arrive in a deadly silence. The signs were there. It was a shame that Zuko had not noticed the warnings. A low cloud cover engulfed the area, mist hung thick in the air. The clouds had darkened over time, but thinking nothing of it, Zuko slept silently.  
The flashbacks came in his dreams, slow to rise before crescendoing out of control. At first it was his father. Zuko dreamt the same thing each night: Ozai turning into his mother and telling him to leave in Azula's voice, the same one she used to tell him he was worthless. The tone was soft and low, laced intricate with a poison of superiority, ego fed at a young age.  
Instead of his mother's face, it was his sisters. She kept saying the same thing. "Oh Zu-Zu… She never loved me, she never loved you, and now we're dead." It was a deviation from the normal, a sign maybe. If Zuko had woken himself up, which after the frequency of night terrors, he had gotten surprisingly good at, maybe Zuko would have enjoyed the lightning and thunder. Reminiscent of his younger days, when he was loved and could love without abandon. But now, he was a shell, a husk of what he could have been, of what he would be.  
But Zuko had not done what was needed of him. Desperate for a good dream, he slept on.  
"Zu-Zu. You should have woken yourself up already. Maybe then you would have been able to save yourself. It's too late… Zu-Zu, didn't you hear me? IT'S TOO LATE." A manic laughter, screeching and unrailed followed. Then it happened again. The same laugh, high and shrill, like a wave crashing to shore beneath the might of a hurricane. He would be swept with the storm.  
Her laugh was the trigger. The storm, the cherry on top. Maybe he would have been fine, but, as his father and early tutors always said, there is no money made in dealing with what might have been. Zuko woke to the crash of lightning and the rumble that followed. The purest form of Firebending, splitting the negative and positive ions for the perfect piece of power. Once a beautful release, now a form of torture. His breath came in gasps, he was finally awake. To a Firebender, their breath was everything, but it was gone.  
A crash and a bang threw the doors to his balcony open. Rain poured into his room, tracing its way across the marble lines of his floor. The light reflected off of the water, blinding and unyielding. He screamed, finally releasing the trapped air in his chest. Breath… BREATHE. He begged of his body. Chest spasming, black etched his vision. Blurry and unforgiving, Zuko was dying of fear.  
High off of lack of oxygen, he didn't even realize the tears that fell from his eyes. Silent tracks down his marble face, frozen in a silent scream. This must be what Azula feels like, her body rejecting her brain, frozen. The blackness took him. In his unconsciousness he would be fine, his sympathetic nervous system calmed, breathing returning to normal. In the panic of the thunder and lightning, with Azula's face flashing at him, Zuko found peace that had long since escaped him.  
That same moment, the storm was visible from the padded room of Azula's rehab. Despite her history of fear when it came to the crash and boom of the storm, Azula found comfort in the colliding of the ions, the real and unreal at war within her, brain blackened by the teachings their father had cultivated within her. For one moment, one moment only, her mind was clear. There was no pretend mother there to take her to insanity, no failing friends, and no expectations. Just Azula, watching the lightning from afar, relishing in the quiet silence between extreme noise. For this moment, this moment only, Azula was… Azula.

The first thing she felt was the silken sheets underneath her. Consciousness gripped her, clawing its way to the surface, bringing the faint buzz alcohol with it. Memories of the past night flooded her mind. Her brother brought her to someone's 21st birthday party... and she ended up in a bed.  
Opening her eyes, red greeted her. The red silk sheet, the plush comforter, the faux red stone walls in an occupied red loveseat. Arm thrown over the back, a fingers worth of amber liquid in the crystal in his hand. Rim held loosely, his wrist turning in a circular motion, habit more than anything. He wore black slacks and white button-down, the top buttons undone and a tie hung loose around his neck.  
"Did we…" Katara asked, a slight waiver in her voice betraying how nervous she was. After chastising Sokka about going to a party and spending the night she couldn't do the same and get away with it. Despite being the younger one of the two, she often led by example.  
"No we didn't. However whether or not you did is something you would know. No?" his voice was husky, thick with morning lethargy. Though there was nothing lethargic about him and his actions.  
"I don't think I did." she replied. This wasn't her bedroom, not even her house. "Where am I?" he took a sip of the amber liquid, Fire Whiskey, she thought.  
"In my bed. You got wasted at the party last night so I brought you up here."  
"What time-" She began.  
"-It's 7 42 a.m., day after the winter solstice." he interrupted. "I brought you up here before a man, Jet was his name, I think, could do worse to you. Do you really not remember it?" Katara shook her head at this. "Well," to her dismay, he chuckled at her, "I knew you were wasted but not blackout drunk. He was kissing you, pinning you to walls, that sort of thing. So I stepped in." He teased her. Sokka would be livid when Katara finally got in touch with him. He had hated her ex from high school. "Who are you and how did you get into my party?"  
"That's my ex and I'm Katara." she replied. Katara sat up, the sheets and comforter pooling around her waist. She made sure her blue party dress was still intact. Other than a few missing beads, no one would think to suspect anything had happened. Not that anything did. Jet didn't get far enough.  
"I knew Sokka was bringing someone," his voice interrupted her thoughts, "but I imagined it would be a girlfriend. Not a little sister."  
"Hey I'm not that little. I'm an adult, and a freshman in college."  
"Really?" The pale man's voice was light and humorous. "You're not old enough to drink, yet you lie in my bed horribly hungover."  
"Get me some water and I can take care of that." Katara shot back. Reaching in her pocket, she searched for her phone. Finding nothing, Katara asked the black haired man to borrow his. Without a word, he handed her his unlocked phone. It was the latest model from Agni Enterprises. Turning it over, she examined it more. Certain features were missing, the home button, power button, and removable backing. "What model of Agni phone is this? I haven't seen one like this before."  
"Its a pre-release. Don't worry about it. Im a beta tester for the brand." he said dodging the question. "Your brother is under Water Tribe Boi." Katara threw questioning glance his way. A shrug of his shoulders ended the silent conversation.  
On the third ring her brother answered, exhaustion clear in his voice. "I told you I was leaving your fuckin party." Before Katara could set him straight, Sokka continued in a disgruntled voice. "Not all of us rise with the sun."  
"Sokka it's me, I lost my phone and was too tired to walk to my dorm." She looked at the man to her left, his golden irises staring at her intently. "Your friend was gracious enough to lend me one of his spare rooms." Katara looked at him, he bowed his head in return. He would uphold her version of the story by conveniently leaving out the part about the spare room being his bedroom, Jet, and any mentions of alcohol.  
"Oh… Ok. I can come and get you after work."  
"No no it's fine. I'll text you when I leave and get home."  
"Ok. I have to get some sleep before I have to leave."  
"Bye Sokka." She hung up. Turning to the man, Katara gave his phone back. "Hey,-"  
"-Shh." He held his finger to his lips. "The sun is rising."  
The sky was dark, darkest it had been all night. Even when the days turned, the blackest of night was before the dawn. His eyes closed, head rested against the back of the loveseat. Expecting. The first of the sun's rays, seeping in from the glass doors and balcony across the room, reached just above his head. Slowly the golden rays illuminated his alabaster skin. The mans jet black hair shined in the fresh morning sun, golden rays catching his marred eye. He rose with the sun and it did him well. A soft exhale escaped his lips, almost like a sigh. A soft swirling puff of smoke escaped with it. An air of peace and tranquility entered the room.  
"3 minutes and 40 seconds." His deep voice interrupted her thoughts. Despite his eyes being closed, basking in the fresh light of the day, it seemed he could sense her confusion. "3 minutes and 40 seconds for the sun to rise fully. From the time the first light reaches the eastern horizon to the time it has risen fully above the edges of the sky. It began by 7:47 and ended by 7:51."  
Katara just nodded her head along in acknowledgement. If he rose with the sun, he was a firebender. They could always give the time of day, whether or not they would was up to them.  
"Would you like breakfast?" His voice again catching her unawares. He always managed to do that, disturb her from her inner musings. "There's a wonderful diner down the street. Then I can drop you off wherever."  
"That sounds lovely."  
Even after thoroughly searching the house, Katara could not find her phone. Or anyone else. After the raging party that ensued the night before, she expected to find bodies strewn about, draped over couches, overturned red solo cups, various articles of clothing lost before lovers got to a private room, and other substances she cared not to mentune. However the apartment was pristine. White and black modern design echoed throughout the house, well, mansion really.  
He led her down a plain staircase, through a hallway, and into the kitchen. White marble stood out against the black of the cupboards. Two deep dish sinks, a microwave, and two ovens stovetops decorated the area. A door lead off to her right, a pantry she assumed. Chairs pulled up to the island in the middle, a full fruit basket on top. It was beautiful.  
The rest of the house was the exact same way, empty and impersonal, black and white. The drive over was uneventful as well. He was silently paying attention to the road, she was thinking about her ex.  
He had been nice. That was the hard part. Jet had been a good person. He had made her feel loved, like the only person he needed or wanted. She, as cheesy as it sounds, was the only star in his night sky. Until he had every cheerleader up there as well… and a couple teachers. Jet was a good boyfriend. He had given her chocolates and flowers at every turn, raining praise on her. His eyes, his hair, his body, he was perfect. But after he had found his way into many other women. She was done. She had to be. At their confrontation Jet had the audacity to cry, to shed a single tear.  
"Kat, my Kitty Kat. Im so sorry. But they were there and wanting. How could I say no?"  
"Its over." At her words his tear fell, but his eyes and smile turned malicious. Like a cheshire cat, defiance written in his features.  
"No. You'll see. You'll want me back. Then where will we be?"  
The bell had sounded then, erasing their conversation from her mind. Her introduction to Biology class was hard enough without Jet wasting space in her thoughts. That was a month ago in early November, the transition from highschool to college had only accelerated the cracks that had appeared in the gilded cover of their relationship. Looking back, Katara saw that their coupling was a disaster, he was possessive and vindictive to her independence and strength. He needed her to need him in order to feel complete, ego satisfied. But that just wasnt who she was.  
"Thanks Jin, I'll have my regular." His voice startled her a little bit. Bringing her back to the present, Katara saw the waitress standing in front of them. She was average, long straight brown hair and bright green eyes.  
The waitress, Jin, batted her eyelashes and took his menu. Staring deeply into his eyes she let her hand rest on his before finally taking the menu. "Should I tell your uncle you are here?"  
A brief flicker of something flashed across his eyes before disappearing just as quickly. He was calm and collected before replying in a level tone. "It's fine. Better if he doesn't know." Without even looking up from the worn, laminated table, he answered Jin.  
"And what for you sweetie?"  
"-She'll have the same thing. Thanks Jin." The green menus were thrust into her hands. The soft interior of the diner was welcoming. More stable than a coffee shop interior, more shifting than a fancy restaurant. Picture frames with quotes hung on the wall. Cosy proverbs from famous scholars, war tacticians, and other notable figures provided an air of wisdom. "Trust me," he said leaning back against the padding of the booth, "this place might be a good lunch spot but…," He rubbed the back of his neck, a light blush creeping up the sides, "most of their breakfasts leave something to be desired."  
She just nodded and continued to look out the window. It was now around 8:10 and the sun had risen already. She could feel it through the clear glass pane. The window might have been facing east, lighting the world in golden rays, but she remained cold. It seeped into her bones despite the full effect of the sun illuminating her darker skin. It reminded her of her home in the South Pole, the sun might shine for hours without truly warming the world. But that was what people didn't realize: more often than not, it was sunny in the south. Where she lived, there was snowfall and snowmelt. Contrary to popular belief she didn't live on a barren wasteland, no one would be able to survive. It would snow heavily in the middle of fall before slacking off to sporadic and light snow falls. Some of the worst storms were caused by the wind picking up ice and snow before hurtling it back at the land and people. The sun was cold and distant, an angry god looking down at the tribes. She could almost imagine it, even from Republic City. Her father, in an effort to unite the various tribes of the south, had began to set up embassies for and in the other tribes. They looked to her father for guidance… and he was there to give it to them.  
They sat like that, her staring at the world beyond the humble diner in the upper ring placed by a relief program and imagining the home she had fought to leave, didn't want to return to, but still felt homesick over, he watching the soft ripples in his cup of Jasmine tea, face subconsciously tilted to the right and masked in a calm facade, until the meal arrived.  
Clearing his throat, gods he didn't know how to do this…, he made eye contact before beginning. "I…," blush covered his face like red paint. His hand moved to a default position on his neck, "Ugh how do I say this?... I didn't call the police. I was going to but… I didn't. If you want to, I can. Or you can. My apartment has cameras in every room but my bedroom and the bathrooms… Heh for obvious reasons… But the tapes record so proof isn't a problem." By now he was intently meeting her eyes, waiting for a sign. He could either erase the party, which might be best, or they could try to nail Jet to the wall and hope that no one was doing anything illegal in the shot. But, there was nothing, just nothing in her eyes. The fire that existed earlier in his bedroom with the rising sun was gone. Dull and glazed blue stared back at him.  
"Why?" It was a whisper, a soft exhale in the form of a question. He didn't have to read her lips to understand her loaded question, despair was written like a bad haiku across her forehead, her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose, and her lips. Stanzas blending together in an echo of a long forgotten language. "What good would that do? I already have a restraining order against him. It's a pain to schedule classes, the advisors are already livid with me. An increased distance, if that's even possible, would only make everyone else's lives worse. There's no point. Besides, who are you to talk about this to me? Gods Taku, just drop it." The air of finality stuck to his body and seeped into his nose.  
Out of her whole spiel only a couple things stood out to him: one, she didn't want to talk about it and two, she had no idea who he was. "Wait… you think I'm Taku?" Her head tilted at that.  
"So, you're not Taku? Wait…"  
"Heh, except for this," he gestured in the direction of his scar, "we do look alike. But no. I actually introduced Sokka to Taku our freshman year at Republic City University after Taku and I graduated from the Fire Nation Military Academy. Im Zuko. Taku's actually visiting the homeland for winter break."  
A soft "Oh" escaped her lips with a slight nod of her head. "So why are you doing this?"  
"I have a sister a year younger than you, I would hate for her to be hungover and alone and… other things… but if she needed a meal and a phone and a ride home, I would just hope someone would do that for her. You know?" He knew it was silly, people didn't just do things like that. The world was a fucked up place, he knew that better than most, but Zuko still wished someone would pay it forward should the time come. Nodding her head, Katara continued eating.  
The rest of their time together was silent save for Katara telling him her dorm name and a quick thank you. He watched as she caught the attention of someone inside and had them open the locked card coded entry door to the dorm. Before the door closed, she turned and waved. Spinning on her heel the door shut and Katara disappeared from view.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So… here's a little plot bunny I've been working on. I was going to write the entire story out before I posted anything… but ehh. Why write a full story if no ones going to read or enjoy it? Anyways there it is. I want to keep the chapters between 4-5k words. I know I get frustrated if I read chapters that are short, but super long chapters are hard for me to write… see the conundrum there? Anyways, reviews fuel my fire to write and if you enjoyed this story then let me know.
> 
> I have a poll going on my FF account (under this exact same handle) about which fic I should write after I finish Happenstance. Its between this one and Chemistry of War (otherwise known as CoW)
> 
> Whichever fic is chosen will be re edited and I will start writing and posting like I have been doing with Happenstance.
> 
> Read, review, vote on my poll.
> 
> ~EC


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